Band Aids on a Broken Marriage
by Kdnull
Summary: Michael, now living in an apartment by himself, feels that his marriage isn't completely in ruins. Though Amanda can't contain herself from cheating, could finding the root of their issues ultimately bring them close and an almost happy family again, or is the wounds to deep to heal with long talks and new found trust? (Amanda x Michael) (Michael POV)
1. Better Person

**A/N:** Hi! Welcome to my Michael and Amanda fanfiction! I have noticed a serious lack of Amanda and Michael fics and people repeatedly requesting more, so I thought I'd try my hand at writing one! Please don't forget to leave a review if you enjoyed this story or want to give me feedback! Also, please note that this is going to be multi-chaptered, so follow if you enjoy it!  
Thank you!

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 **Triggers in this chapter:** Very brief mention of self harm. 

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If I could change anything, it would be the way I am. No doubt in my mind to what I would say if someone offered a magical spell that had the power to control one thing. Though, maybe the cure for cancer or world peace or something like that would be high up there, but I am selfish. I am selfish and I'll admit it to anyone if you get me drunk enough.

But, if I had a wish to change the type of sarcastic person that I am, I'd no longer be cruel or self-centered. Maybe I'd just be happy and relaxed. When I was living with Amanda, I was the most relaxed I think that I'll ever be. Ah, yes. Washed up, utterly depressed, and watching the day fade into the night in front of my swimming pool every day of the week.  
" _Relaxed_ ".

I found myself missing the days of Amanda screaming at me, Tracey going out and acting like a true Los Santos local, Jimmy spiritually worshipping his video games, and me wondering where everything went wrong. Life seemed much duller in my one bedroom apartment near Vinewood Hills and the Vinewood Garage that wasn't very far from my old house that was still in my name. After a spat with Amanda that involved her and a package delivery man, we not-so-calmly decided that we should take a break.  
How long that break may be? No clue. Depending on how long she chose to continue her relationship with the mailman determined how long I'd be gone, assuming I would come back or be invited back.

My life in an apartment meant for middle class citizens wasn't too bad. On my first day, my neighbor's daughter, who is seven, knocked on my door with a welcoming plate of cookies. She was a sweet girl who made amazing sugar cookies along with a few shapeless gingerbread snacks. I'd never had a neighbor, let alone a kid, offer me anything for existing next to them. It was a feeling that I enjoyed since I wasn't welcomed often at my house or anywhere. It makes me wonder where I truly would be invited at if the world knew what kind of person I was. The type of person that parents warn their kids about and bring up in conversation about why it is important to lock their doors at night.

Here I sit in my stuffy apartment with my cellphone sitting on the couch cushion next to me, all of my other items in various boxes scattered around my new home. My mind tries to think of anything other than Amanda, but I can't stop it. Before I know it, I'm reaching for my cellphone.  
I picked up my phone hesitantly and called Amanda, wondering why I even bothered as I dialed her number. Why couldn't I just let this go? Why was I so determined to stay with someone who cheated? Yes, I am not a saint, but I try to do my best. I'd gave up on prostitutes and cheap women several months ago when I promised my wife I'd stay faithful. Actually, we had both made that promise, but I discovered not even a day later that a plumber was helping her break that promise in our shared bedroom.

I heard her voice on the line harshly ask when she picked up, "What? You miss me already, Michael? We don't miss you. Me and my new boyfriend are having a blast. We-"  
I cut her off before I got upset, knowing my temper that I could snap at any moment. I said, "Listen, Mandy, I was wondering if you wanted to go get some coffee? Or maybe a film? I- Can we just be civil? That's all I ask. I just want us to go out and talk things through like adults. No fighting."

To my surprise, she was quiet for a minute. She wasn't tearing into me and telling me how much of a pathetic nobody I was. Amanda responded to me with a sigh that followed with, "Fine. Coffee. I ain't seeing Meltdown for the fifteenth time just so that you can see your name on the screen for a split second. Meet me near the Bean Machine by our- I mean my house, okay? And please, try not to bring the whole entire law enforcement branch with you. _Again_."

She hung up before I could explain how it wasn't my fault that the cops were pigs, the line going dead. After replaying the conversation in my head, I stood up with a large smile, wincing a little. I would have did a short happy dance if my self-inflicted wounds didn't hurt badly. The scratches and cuts hurt, but what could I do?  
Hurting myself was just the type of person I was.


	2. Coffee and Crashes

**A/N:** Ah, another chapter! I don't know why I always procrastinate writing. I love to write, but for some reason I can never make myself do it. Why? Ugh.  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! PLEASE don't forget to leave a review! Have a good day!

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 **Triggers in this chapter:** Suicidal themes.

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I do admit, I was nervous about seeing my wife after I moved out. It felt like an eternity since I saw Amanda even though it was not that long ago. She had an effect on me that was hard to explain, but I'll try my best to clarify my emotions. Amanda was something special and dear to me, yet more often than not she single handedly caused me most of my pain and depression. She could be screaming at my and hitting my chest and face with all of her force, but I'd remain still and know that no matter what my love for the stripper would never leave. It was difficult for me to understand my own feelings for her. I always felt my chest tighten and stomach knot when I saw her and knew about the history we shared together. I didn't see that ending our relationship would do any good other than to throw away over ten years of feelings and progress. I knew she wasn't that good for me, but would could I do? She was like poison in a way that she was toxic, but I couldn't quit coming back to her and letting myself get sick off of her once more.

She has been labeled by my former therapist, Dr. Friedlander, as a vicious cycle. He explained that each day, or strung out in a few days, we always followed the same or similar pattern. We'd start off alright and talking, then hit a nerve, cue the yelling, possibly hitting on Amanda's part, someone leaving, and finally me drinking my thoughts away while she hooked up with a random male just to get back at me. Why was my life like this? Why were we so _dysfunctional_? Was it the way we were brought up, or our personalities that drove us into such a destructive pattern? Yes, we were both raised in a trailer court, but as far as I know, most people who lived in trailer courts don't turn into alcoholics with an unexplainable record for killing people. Or, for Amanda's case, cheating women who desire to go under the knife with every part of their body.

I tried my best to act at least a little confident as I approached my wife at the coffee shop, Bean Machine, a few blocks from my old house. Amanda was wearing a short sleeved dark chocolate t-shirt and tightly fitted jeans, too much jewelry in forms of necklaces in bracelets to show off the money that she had. She barely lifted her hand in a wave as I sat in the empty chair across from her on the patio table, a white umbrella on top shielding us from the hot sun.  
She had her arms crossed with a heavy amount of attitude. I already felt like this day was never going to end even before I got a word out due to the stiff tension in the air.

She let out a drawed out sigh and pursed her rose colored lips, mocha eyes narrowed at me. She grumbled, "I thought you'd want your usual."  
I glanced down at the hot caramel latte in front of me on the table. I thanked her, but didn't take a sip. She mumbled under her breath, "Never seemed thankful when you were with me, asshole."  
I raised up my hands in a defensive manner and remarked, "I just got here and you are already about to rip me a new one, eh?"  
Amanda rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms, me lowering my hands as well and resting them on the table. She stated with force, "I am not going to be here long."  
I nodded slowly, a bit confused in all honesty since we were, to my knowledge, going to be trying to work on our marriage. I asked her, very slightly tilting my head, "Then why did you come here? I-I mean, I'm glad you did and all, but why make the effort to meet up if you ain't committed to go through things?"  
She scoffed and adverted her eyes from me entirely, staring off at the cement ground next to her. "I don't answer to you. Not anymore. My boyfriend, Dexter, is practicing to be a psychologist. He said that you are unstable and controlling. Men _like you_ always are."  
A tried to suppress my laughter as I watched her, almost not believing what I was hearing. Me, always having to push it, informed with a smirk, "I got a friend named Mary Anne. You two? You'd get along great. She hates men and likes to exercise. You hate men and like to do yoga. I think Franklin mentioned he had an aunt that hates men and likes to 'spirit walk'."

Amanda turned her attention to me and instantly snapped when I was finished talking, "I don't hate men, I hate you! Everyone else is fine by me! It's you, Michael!"  
After her voice died down, it was silent at our table. A lingering feeling of sadness mixed with confused anger filled the air around us. I couldn't describe if I had all the time in the universe, not knowing what caused her to yell at me this time and say that she hated me. I sat still, fidgeting with the sleeves of my gray suit. Here my wife sat in front of me letting me know that she hated me when I had been completely prepared to, once again, patch up our love. Amanda had never told me she hated me even though she had come close. It was words that we both agreed would never leave out mouth unless we were completely done and had thrown in the towel.  
I sighed quietly and stood, shaking my head. I grabbed the check from the table and whispered, refusing to glance at the woman, "I'm gonna go. It was nice seein' you, Mandy."

I picked up the coffee bill and walked with a heavy heart to the waitress who stood near the front door to the Bean Machine, waiting for someone to need her assistance. I, not caring, pulled out twenty dollars and muttered, "Keep the change."  
While I walked to my car, I asked myself mentally if I was abusive. I had never thought of myself more than a guy trying to get by in the madness of Los Santos, and well, the world. I started my car once inside and watched as Amanda had her eyes closed and gently twirling her coffee cup between her hands, obviously lost in thought. She didn't have any expression to indicate how she felt, her face completely blank.  
I gave a final shake of my head as I started my car and drove away from my love and the establishment. My mind gave in to the thoughts that had been creeping on me throughout my stay at my apartment. Maybe if I had been in therapy during this time, would things be different? Maybe if I'd spent more time on myself, would I be a better person? Maybe if I wasn't around, would things be easier?

I felt my foot hit the gas suddenly as I made a quick exit onto the Los Santos freeway. My breath quickened, and before I knew it, I started to swerve in and out of cars and lanes of rush hour traffic, pushing one hundred miles per hour. Tears filled my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks as cars swerved to get out of my way, creating a straight clear path for me. They laid on their horns and screamed at me from their cars. I showed no sign of slowing down or breaking for anybody. I'd gave up while my mind fixated on the thought that nobody in the world cared for me anymore. Trevor was the only man to show a sign of friendship, but even he seemed to be drawing himself from me and letting me know I was becoming to fake and plastic for him to handle. Franklin was a kid and didn't have the time for me, Lester didn't socialize, Jimmy didn't want to be seen with me, Tracey deemed me as uncool, and now my wife hated me.

As I sped along as fast as my small car could, I noticed a highway divider coming up to my left. It was what was used to show that traffic was going both ways on each side of the highway. It looked solid and as if it wouldn't be able to allow me to keep travelling if I crashed into it.  
I whispered to myself, sobbing while I started to let my car drift into the object that was quickly coming up, "You're doing the right thing. You're doing the right thing. You're doing-"  
I didn't feel the impact, surprisingly, when I slammed into the cement divider in the middle of the road that did its job of separating the four lanes of traffic. No, all I felt was myself almost instantly losing consciousness as screams, car horns, and the sickening sound of glass shattering while the car flipped danced in my ears, along with one familiar song.  
When everything faded out, one song remained that barely strung out in the destroyed car.

 _"Stayed up dreaming has left me numb. Blue eyes and wondering lips, true lies through fingertips, hidden tales of forbidden love-"_


	3. Mama Trevor Knows Best

**A/N:** Ah, another chapter! Look at that! Thanks for all of the reviews, by the way! I get really really really excited when my phone tells me that someone left a review!  
Hope you like this one! Baby Trev makes an appearance, but keep in mind that this isn't a Trikey story! For once I try something new.

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 **Triggers in this chapter:** Suicide recovery.

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I remember drifting through being awake and completely asleep while I laid upside down in my flipped over car on the wrong side of the highway. I remember parts of when an ambulance arrived and several nurses and paramedic doctors fought their way into the broken car to scoop me up and strap me down to a hospital gurney that sat in the medical van, but most of it was a weird, loud blur. Everybody was constantly shouting and sounded frantic, especially when the crash first occurred. After that, I don't remember much. The first time I fully came to was when I woke up in my hospital room. I winced at first when I tried to move, realizing that wasn't a good idea. My body was unbelievably sore and everything ached, though the painful rough edge was surprisingly absent. I examined my room for anything familiar, but all I found was a bed-side table, a white board on the wall that had my name with the word "morphine" next to it, a small pull out couch on the far side of the room, a small bathroom closed off behind the door beside my bed, my heart monitor machine and an IV that was hooked into my arm. I laid back and inspected my arms. Several cuts and scrapes threatened to expose the flesh underneath, but everything looked like I had just been a big banged up by the accident. Even though I didn't lift the hospital blanket to make sure, nothing felt broken or sewn up. Had I really just made it out without anything but a few scratches?

I heard a loud knock on the wooden door that led to my room. The knock was followed by Trevor bursting in, slamming the door behind him. He walked to my bed in his typical dirty sweatpants and white t-shirt, complete with half bloodied combat boots that tucked in the hems of his pants. I slowly lifted my head to look at Trevor, half squinting because of the heavy morphine that surged in my veins, making everything a tad blurry and myself light headed. Trevor gave a very small chuckle and walked closer to my bed, placing his left hand on my cheek. He spoke in a soft tone, which looking back on it, I should've known something was up. "Hey, buddy. How do you feel?"

I relaxed, his hand still resting on my face. A gave a content nod as an answer, not feeling all that bad thanks to the expensive drug.  
Trevor's smiled remained as he nodded, watching me. "Good, good, good, good . . . Because you know what?"  
Before I could flinch away, he struck his right hand across my face while the left hand held my head still. He yanked his hands away after the slap and grabbed me by my hospital gown, pulling me close to his face. He growled, the smell of cheap beer coming from him, "I'm doin' fuckin' horrible since you decided to be a fuckin' jackass, eh? Ever think about what this might do to your dear ol' buddy? Think I give a shit that you wanna die? Nope! 'Cause know why? You ain't dyin'. Anyone killin' you, it's me. And right now I don't feel like wastin' a bullet. I've been in line since nineteen-eighty-God-knows-when to off 'ya. Anyone takin' your life, it's me, 'ya selfish prick. I've waited the longest- fair and square."

He gave me a shove backwards as he straightened up his posture, having let go of me. I stared at him, utterly speechless. He glared at me, silence except for the soft beeping of my heart monitor. He didn't mean he wanted to kill me, but more was making a point. He had every reason to kill me when I accidentally got Brad murdered, but he didn't.

Trevor broke the gaze and turned to pretend to be watching something out the large set of double windows. The sunset hit through the glass and barely shined into the hospital room. Trevor scoffed when a few moments passed by, tone an actual real caring one, " . . . Do you really hate livin' that much, Mike? I-I mean, really? Don't even try to lie to me and tell me you weren't tryin' to off yourself. You had yourself videotaped on a cop's dashcam that was 'bout to pull you over for speedin'. Seen it myself. Made the nurses show me."

Trevor turned toward my doped up self and waited for a response. How long had he been here? I decided to answer honestly, something I rarely did, especially to my best friend. I sighed quietly and mumbled, "Yeah, man. Livin' ain't exactly fun. Moved out of Mandy's, kids hate me, I-"  
Trevor's words spoke quickly, as if he had come up with the answer to end all of my problems. "Move in with me, man. Again. Patricia is gone and I still got the couch or the other half of the bed if you are feelin' brave enough to sleep next to me. Just like ol' times, huh?"

I couldn't help but smile just a little. I was too cheap to buy a double bedded motel room after we'd pull a score in North Yankton. Trevor was all too willing to share a bed with me back then, and probably even now, but I always made sure there was some sort of pillow divider between us before we both fell asleep in case while he was asleep he got a little too snuggly and lonesome.

I shook my head, smile fading when I started to think about the present day. "I can't again, man. I gotta try to work things out with 'Manda. If I don't, there goes ten years down the drain and I'll lose 'er and the kids forever. It ain't an option no more. It's all I got left."  
Trevor swallowed back his constant anger after hearing that he wasn't included in the "all I have left" bit. Trevor's forced smile returned, giving a shrug. He pressed, "I'm going to go for a walk. Maybe eat some pie from the cafeteria or someone old man on their deathbed. You stay 'ere and I'll be back soon, okay, Mikey? Maybe you'll be thinkin' straight after you relax for a bit and then you'll give me a clear headed decision on you stayin' with me, huh? It's a good deal. And you know what? Mama Trevor knows best."

He patted my blanketed foot with a small smirk as he left the room, whistling a song from Channel X.  
I sat back and listened to the heart monitor, trying to remember as much as I could about the accident. Nothing was coming up except shouting and screaming from scared people. Ah, did Amanda know I was here? Knowing Trevor, if he got a say, she didn't.  
My eyes opened and searched for my phone without me moving. Fortunately, it was on the hospital bed table next to me. I picked it up, checking the time. It was five o'three in the afternoon, the accident occurring around noon. I unlocked my phone using my number password and whistled in astonishment. I had text from four different people, normally having text from no one. Might as well take a look before the morphine hits me hard.

Message received from Dave Norton, 1:29 pm:  
I saw your face on the news, Michael. Why? Are you taking scores _again_? I don't have a rewind option on my television, but you looked unconscious and had police swarming around you. If you got caught for some crime, make sure not to squeal about me. Good luck in the joint, old friend. Make sure you don't turn your back in the showers.

Message received from Trevor Philips, 2:12 pm:  
dud I thnk I saw u on tv. waz that u? did u wreck ur car? r u high and if u r why didnt u share? U r so selfish mikey. god I h8 u. btw on my way 2 see if it is u."

Message received from Franklin Clinton, 2:55 pm:  
Hey, M. You know I ain't one to really worry if you are dying or whatever because you are tough, but I just got a call from Trev saying you are gonna bite it. Is he drunk and messing with me or are you really gonna die?

Message received from Amanda De Santa, 4:43 pm: I saw what you did. Be there at ten-ish tonight. We gotta talk.

I sighed once I was done reading the messages. I put the phone on my chest and pressed the red button attached to my IV to fill my blood with more drugs even though I wasn't hurting badly. It was just so I could escape back to sleep. It worked almost immediately, eyes forcing closed and mind drifting off.


End file.
